


Feedback

by kuchi



Category: South Park
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Flip Fuck, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-18 03:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13673313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuchi/pseuds/kuchi
Summary: A little post-shower playfulness turns out to be an interesting night of firsts for Kyle. Smut.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> just wanted to write some dicking from Kyle's POV :-)

“I’m gonna fuck you,” Stan breathes into Kyle’s neck, the words thick, heavy in his mouth from kissing.

And then immediately he pulls away, just a fraction of an inch, mouth quirking into a bashful smile and eyes expectant, as if he’s waiting for some clue from Kyle on whether that was an effective thing to say.

Kyle blinks a few times, trying to will away the heat crawling fast up his neck at those words. But it’s a useless endeavour, because in the seconds he takes to compose himself, Stan already has his answer. He smiles slyly at Kyle.

“Obviously - I’m pretty sure we fucking decided that already,” Kyle says belatedly, bright red.

Stan laughs giddily and presses another kiss against his neck, confidently ignoring him this time. “I wanna fuck you so bad, I can’t wait any long- ”

Okay. Enough. Kyle pulls him up roughly into a kiss. He knows that Stan knows it’s a flustered attempt to shut him up, but whatever. Stan goes along with it easily, his hands wandering first at Kyle’s waist, then his ass, and round the back of his thighs. They're firm, deliberate touches. Kyle shudders and backs into the heat of his skin. Neither of them are wearing anything at all, though Kyle thinks at one point he might have been wearing a towel (he really can’t remember). He feels each place where Stan’s water-warmed skin touches his own flare up, right down to the accidental bump of a knee or an elbow.

On the occasions they’ve found themselves showering together, it hasn’t ever ended without needing another shower afterwards, so no surprise here, really.

Kyle runs both hands through Stan’s hair - it’s still sort of damp, unlike his own - before wrapping a hand around his wrist and leading him backwards out of the bathroom entrance and towards the bed. It’s a little difficult, as Stan follows him blindly, still intent on kissing Kyle thoroughly and nothing else.

His eyes are heavy with want when he pulls away finally, lips red. He glances down at Kyle’s naked body with mild curiosity. Kyle could still burn under that gaze.

Stan kisses him again, slower this time. Kyle sighs into the feeling; it’s familiar enough in memory now, but it still registers like a shock through him each new time.

“Get the lube,” he says hoarsely, but he’s not giving Stan the space to, because he’s already maneuvering them into a semi-lying position on the bed. It's getting hard to formulate words with Stan breathing warm against his ear, peppering rough kisses into his neck.

Stan pauses his movement for only a second. “Later,” he says almost under his breath. His hands are steady, holding Kyle down in place by his arms; a controlled, balanced pressure despite the inelegance of his mouth right now. Not too forceful, because his hips straddled over Kyle’s are already doing the work, and he knows Kyle doesn’t like the feeling of being constrained so one-sidedly like that. Kyle wonders with a rush of adoration how the fuck Stan can remember things like that at moments like this. He moans helplessly at the sweet sensation over the most sensitive parts of his neck, arches to give Stan better access.

Soon Stan is busy somewhere lower, and Kyle takes the opportunity to run his hands over Stan’s shoulders, and down the curve of his back. Stan is inching further and further down, not really straddling his waist anymore, but braced over a leg. He kisses broadly over Kyle’s collarbone, and the space above and between, even mouths the gentle bob of his Adam’s apple. Kyle’s hands find purchase in his soft hair.

Stan works down to his chest. The attention is earnest. It could almost be considered methodical, if the rush of Stan’s heartbeat against Kyle’s skin and the hunger in his eyes didn’t tell Kyle otherwise. Kyle shivers off the acute coolness that follows after each wet kiss, thinks hazily about how similar it is to the fading chill immediately after stepping out of the shower. He pulls Stan’s warm body against him, rocking them together. His mind is skipping ahead with anticipation and he tries to squeeze his legs around Stan, but Stan just pries them open again, intentions elsewhere. Kyle shivers when Stan’s tongue finds a nipple, but Stan insists on being so _torturously_ chaste that Kyle finally gives up with a grunt and impatiently pushes him lower still.

It’s the wrong move. He only has a second to realise that Stan’s smiling against the skin of his stomach before -

“ _No,_ ” Kyle laughs.

“Stop, _asshole,_ ” He insists, tone already defeated in a weak burst of laughter as Stan licks carefully at the most ticklish part of his stomach, over and over. He blows deliberately against it. Kyle’s torso crumples with automatic giggles at the unbearably weird feeling. “Dude! _Fuck off._ ”

Stan looks very pleased with himself but he does fuck off then, kissing further down, following the wiry wisps of hair. Kyle watches him. He sobers up quickly, but he’s still smiling a smile that makes Kyle glad he’s not standing up. Stan places deliberately gentle breaths, soft open-mouthed kisses against Kyle’s taut skin; lips running over the jut of a hip bone and down along his side. His hands are still skimming somewhere above, drawing along the lines of Kyle’s ribs, palms pressing in like he’s keeping them together, _holding_ them in place. Kyle tries not to tremble. There are parts of his body he hadn’t ever thought of, let alone managed to associate with sex before they started doing this. They belong to Stan more than they do to him.

Finally, _finally_ he presses his mouth carefully against Kyle’s waiting cock. Kyle breathes out sharply. Stan kisses slowly along the shaft, eyes closed and fingers trailing, stroking down his thigh with the movement. It’s meticulous as ever, _reverent_ , Kyle thinks feverishly, as Stan pulls back up towards the head and takes him in his mouth in one hot, lavish movement. Kyle grunts. Stan’s arms are wrapping around his hips now, and Kyle lets him lift his body towards him, spreading his legs apart. He’s sure that Stan wants to use his fingers on him first, he always insists on it whenever they do this.

Stan pulls off his cock, breathing harshly now, before apparently deciding to tongue the head and then the shaft again. Kyle watches hungrily. There was a point not long ago when he couldn’t look at this at all. Like the sight itself was some kind of illusion, and one proper glance could shatter the reality of it.

Now he can’t tear his eyes away for a second. Stan’s face pressed without shame against his aching cock.

Stan tugs his hips closer, almost off the bed, exposing him to the cold air more and more. Draws a few languid licks down to base of his cock, around his balls and against his taint, before kissing wet and open-mouthed at the skin below. It tickles slightly, but it’s easy not to focus on that particular aspect of sensation. And before he knows it, Stan is pushing his face below, arms pulling Kyle’s hips firmly upwards.

“What are you doing -” Kyle manages roughly, half a second before the sensation hits and a moan escapes him, loud and rough and startled. Stan mutters something but it’s lost - Kyle only hears the slick muffled sound of licking, and barely even that, because _holy_ _shit_. It’s like lightning. Like his mind is fogging up, heedless to anything else. His whole body draws tight with the sensation, and he shivers, he does, but he also couldn’t shake it off with a thousand fucking shivers. He tries uselessly to twitch away - but Stan won’t let him, or maybe he isn’t trying hard enough.

“God,” he stammers. And shakily, “ _fuck_ ,” because this is so _not_ something he would do, not something he would imagine beyond a fucking porn fantasy, but when Stan is licking him, probing him open there’s nothing he can do except moan helplessly, bask in the strange and exhilarating feeling, breathlessly wonder how it can feel so fucking _good_.

Even as his hand is pressed over his eyes in embarrassment, he finds himself spreading his legs wide, hips grinding back against that maddening, disgustingly arousing sensation. Stan’s _mouth_ \- God, he can barely think it - is working tirelessly, unpracticed (out of practice?) but so deliberate and so enthusiastic, and somewhere in the back of his mind, far gone, he thinks _of_ _course_.

Of course Stan would want to do exactly this. To be desperately, greedily proving his devotion onto Kyle’s body in this way, in every way possible. Kyle squeezes his eyes shut. He backs into Stan’s eager mouth, ready to reach for his cock.

He could equally sob with the sensation or pull that face deeper against him, but he doesn’t manage either, because Stan slows and stops suddenly, breathing hard and lifting himself up. He wipes a careless hand against his mouth, eyes glinting, looking down and teasing his thumb exactly where his tongue was moments before. Kyle half-manages to hold a strangled moan and scrambles for the nightstand, all but throws the bottle of lube at him. And condoms. Right. He finds one at the bottom of the bedside drawer, whacking his arm painfully against it in his impatience.

He watches as Stan fumbles with the packet for a second, before he manages to roll the condom on, and spreads the lube over his cock.

“Okay, like this?” he asks, gesturing at their position. Kyle nods fast, leaning on an elbow.

Stan settles between his legs. They end up face to face like this more often than not, and that’s fine by him. Kyle suspects it’s because it’s romantic enough for Stan’s predispositions, but also doesn’t feel too... _undignified_ for Kyle. He can’t help his own hangups, and he’s relieved that Stan isn’t interested in that either, despite any of his own inclinations.

Kyle breathes a moan when Stan presses into him, carefully hovering above his body. His eyes close automatically. He can’t even imagine it, come to think of it, the idea of Stan fucking anyone without a certain kind of care, striving for anything but the romantic ideal. It might be kind of stupid, if he didn’t know how much Stan really believed in it.

It might be kind of stupid, if he didn’t fall for it, every time.

Kyle grunts at the feeling of being filled up so thoroughly. He never remembers it being as intense as it actually feels. It’s almost uncomfortable if he thinks the wrong way about it, and there were times before when he really struggled not to, would write it off with the disappointing assumption that he just wasn’t into doing anal like this - but never with Stan, Stan’s _patience_. Because when he opens his eyes now there simply isn’t any scope to feel anything but pure desire. Stan’s body is perfect like this, his chest, his shoulders, the gentle lines of biceps.

The raw thrill of Stan moving above him, inside him. The only thing Kyle feels right now is an aching need to etch every detail of this into his memory, any hesitation long forgotten. When he was younger he’d never managed to imagine this without a certain kind of embarrassment, despite how much he imagined being with Stan. To his dumb teenage mind, it had felt like like giving in in some big way, wanting Stan to _fuck_ him - something more humiliating than any other fantasy that he couldn’t as easily return from.

The first time they did it, it felt like pure release. Stan - the real, flesh-and-bone Stan, his _best friend_ , so much more nervous and human and _fun_ than any stoic masturbatory aid that Kyle’s teenage mind could conjure up when it was boxed in by shame. They were completely on the same page. There was nothing at all embarrassing about it.

Stan asks him, breathing rough against his ear, “Should I move?”

Kyle breathes, “Yeah,” dragging his palms down to the small of Stan’s back, but he realises as he’s doing it that they’ve started wrong in their clamour to be close - Kyle needs to hitch his knees up further, which Stan’s weight is over him currently not letting him do, or Stan needs to be pressed lower against him, for either of them to have any leverage.

“Position’s wrong,” he says with a breathless laugh, but Stan seems to have noticed too, and he grins sheepishly before letting Kyle readjust.

This time Stan moves immediately, a slow, solid roll of the hips, a hand firmly keeping Kyle’s leg hitched up by his waist. Soon enough they have a rhythm going. It’s a steady motion. Stan's breath is fast and faltering, even as his thrusts are measured. Kyle meets them with his eyes closed. He focuses on the feeling, no distractions. He’s never really been able to be quiet during sex, and he certainly isn’t managing it now. It’s constant feedback, like his own noises are spurring Stan on - his breath is warm against Kyle’s ear along with those delicious, quiet groans. Kyle pulls him in, a hand wound up in his hair.

Stan looks down between them and blinks sweat out of his eyes. “You feel so fucking perfect. Touch yourself,” he says, and Kyle immediately does - he's in no state to deny Stan anything right now. He runs a hand carefully, along his cock, and Stan’s eyes follow him. The way he’s grinding his hips down is fucking unbearable, and Kyle has to slow his hand right down every time Stan speeds up just so he doesn’t push himself over the edge. It’s a ridiculous game of cat and mouse - it’s _frustrating_ how close Stan gets him, drawing moans from deep inside him.

He wraps his arms right around Stan’s waist, aiming to keep him there, but Stan only uses the leverage to flip them over.

“Here, do some work,” he says with a grin, swatting playfully at Kyle’s ass.

Kyle curls over his body, sinking right down. “You’re such a terrible lay,” he says, smiling, pressing kisses into Stan’s neck.

Stan leans his head back, rocking his hips up. Kyle moans into his neck, his ear, before finding his lips. He cradles Stan’s face in his hands, and Stan wraps his arms around his neck in return. Kyle puts both hands on his chest, anchoring himself against Stan’s body like that, so he can move properly, fuck himself right down into the sensation.

He feels like he’s fucking overheating.

Stan’s hands are fixed on his hips now, and he only removes them to squeeze a hand that Kyle has braced against his chest. He looks right at Kyle and breathes, “Can you come- ” but then he’s cutting himself off and changing tack.

“Make yourself come on my cock,” he says.

Fuck.

“Come on, baby,” Stan says quietly, schooling his breath like he’s trying hard to hold onto some kind of control. “Do it.”

Kyle grinds down into him, and - the answer is _fuck_ yes he can. He knows he’s too far gone, because the stupid pet name doesn’t even sound ridiculous to him anymore. He feels put on the spot, but even as he’s pressing a hand over his brow so he doesn’t have to watch Stan watching him like that, it only spurs him on. Because they’re moving together and moving quickly now, Kyle’s hand stroking fast and firm on his cock. He bends to kiss Stan again, pours into his mouth all the restlessness and all the tension building like a flare inside him. He wants to give back the feeling. His bent knees squeeze without thought against Stan’s hips. He grabs his own heel where it digs against Stan’s thigh, just to have something to hold onto. Tries in vain to hold his feverish moans.

Kyle comes hard over Stan’s chest, an overwhelming surge of pleasure breaking through like a shock wave where Stan is buried deep inside him.

Stan moans louder than ever, pushing up into him more, like they could meld together if he tried. Kyle shudders and shivers off each wave, bearing down into the intensity until it wears off. He waits until the very final moment that it starts to feel uncomfortable to climb off. Stan rolls over instantly, discards the condom, and in barely two seconds he’s back on Kyle, pinning his hips down and jerking himself off fast over him. He comes messily on Kyle’s stomach. And then immediately collapses right on him.

They’re sticky and sweaty and definitely sated.

“Good?” Stan says after a minute, voice rough.

“Yeah, dude,” Kyle says, once he can get his voice not to rasp. “Why do you always ask that?” He lets his hand wander to the back of Stan’s neck, petting the sweaty hair, scratching gently.

Stan nuzzles his head lower into Kyle’s chest. “Just checking,” he says, eyes closed. He belatedly wipes his hand on Kyle’s stomach.

Kyle wrinkles his nose. “Ugh. I’m a towel now?”

“Yep.” Stan runs his hand up through the mess, practically rubbing it into his skin, to make a point, apparently. Bastard. He knows that Kyle is kind of squeamish, once the thrill wears off. Kyle squirms and tries to push him off.

Stan laughs and traps him with a hug. “You’re such a fucking baby, dude.”

He does eventually clean Kyle up though, and carefully at that. With an actual towel and all. Kyle watches him. It’s damp and cool and when he shivers a little as Stan brings it into the dip of his pelvis he realises that he feels wide awake, surprisingly.

He grabs Stan’s wrist, and his voice is still drowsy with the afterglow when he says, “Think we could go again? I mean uh - I don’t think my ass is up for it,” he laughs, “ - but something else?”

Stan tilts his head. He scratches the back of his neck, before saying quietly, “Do you wanna fuck me?”

There’s only one possible reply to that.


	2. Chapter 2

Kyle sticks a hand in his bedside drawer, feeling around for another pack of condoms. There has to be some more in that drawer because it’s exactly where they usually are… or not. His hand only meets pens, scraps of paper, and what feels like a billion pocket-size packs of tissue. He yanks open the next drawer, and then the one below it. “I swear I bought more...”

Stan sits up at the sound, so suddenly that it makes the bed creak loudly. He’s looking directly at Kyle. “Actually, can we not?”

He gestures at the non-existent condom, currently not in Kyle’s hand.  
  
It takes Kyle a moment to figure out what he means. _Oh_.

Okay.

Kyle tries to formulate a coherent sentence. “Oh. I - I mean - are you sure?”

“I wanna know what it feels like,” Stan says, looking almost shy. Like he’s been thinking about it. Kyle’s skin pricks.

They’ve discussed it before, briefly, even agreed on it. Both in sensible conversation and spur-of-the-moment sex talk (if that can be called _discussion_ ). Kyle never, ever would have thought the words “ _would you let me fuck you without a condom_ ” could be considered romantic, but there it was. Somehow Stan had managed it, slipped it in between idle kisses and idle conversation, so casually that it didn’t even really catch Kyle off guard.

So they had agreed, and Kyle doesn’t know what else had been on his brain at the time, but he had simply noted the idea with a minor thrill and put it away. No-brainer. They were together, they were exclusive and the mere thought that Stan would want to do that with him, something so _intimate_ , and want Kyle to have him the same way in return warranted automatic assent (he’d think about the details of it at a later date). He’d felt so warm thinking about the implications. That’s what it was. Hypothetical closeness.

But now - well, it’s always a different thing when a situation actually presents itself.

Different meaning instantly, _stupidly_ arousing.

Kyle is nodding now, a little breathless. He curls his fingers into his palm and tries to feel the carpet under his feet. “Me too, actually.”

“Oh,” Stan says suddenly, “You've never done it without a condom before?” Kyle swears he sees something like relief wash over his face.

“Uh, no. Have you?”

“Not like this, obviously - ”

“Oh. Right, but - ?”

“Only long term. A couple of girls.”

Kyle nods, and he can’t help the slight sinking feeling in his stomach, regardless of the fact that, if he thinks about it rationally, it would be very unlikely that Stan hadn’t. “Is it… different?”

Stan nods, smiles a tiny smile that tells Kyle all he needs to know. “Just wait and see.” He’s still looking at him, like just staring at Kyle will reveal something new. “You definitely sure you want to?”

Kyle nods hard, breathes a laugh just for the release.

“Tell me,” Stan says.

“What? _No_.” He’s not gonna do _that_ right now.

Stan raises an eyebrow. An obvious challenge. It’s a stupid game they have - who can do the silliest porn talk with a straight face. Neither of them are very good at it - Kyle because he really doesn’t feel like he has it in him, he’d much rather just get on with it, and Stan, because even though he’ll blush through it like a schoolgirl, he’ll still take it as an opportunity to end up saying something completely ridiculous. And, eventually, once he sees the effect it has on Kyle, something not silly at all - something to make him weak, instead. The bastard.

Kyle stands up straighter. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” he says carefully. He adds quickly, “ _really_  fucking hard.” And then he promptly bursts into laughter.

How the hell does Stan make that shit not sound stupid when he does it? There's clearly some level of earnestness for hokey lines that Kyle’s missing here.

Stan falls over laughing, but Kyle notices his cock is rock hard and his chest is flushing deeper. “Do it,” he smirks. He pulls himself up and stares directly into Kyle’s face. “Just raw me, dude.”

It takes a good couple of minutes to compose themselves after that, and Kyle’s still laughing his ass off when Stan shuffles over to him and pulls him down into the bed with him, slinging his arms around Kyle’s waist.

“Come on,” he says, still smirking.

Kyle pushes him backwards into the mass of pillows. Stan handles them into a decent position, so neither of them are dangling off the bed.

Kyle kisses him, languidly running a hand over his stomach and along his cock, relishing the way his breath hitches. “You ready? Or you want me to - ?”

Stan blinks and shakes his head minutely, at both questions apparently, “I just need a little more.” He reaches for the lube he was using before generously covering a couple of fingers with it. “Wait there, okay.”

He shoves the covers to the side, and Kyle watches him disentangle his limbs and get onto his knees. He leans back and on an arm, creating a dip in the sheets, and reaches behind - Kyle can read on his face the exact moment he pushes his fingers inside himself, can almost feel it low in his own belly. Stan usually wants to do this part himself, insists that he’s more comfortable with it since it’s what he did the first time Kyle fucked him (and, he had said, a couple of times on his own, too - which Kyle can’t even really think about without getting red in the face). Stan sighs lowly and rocks his hips back a little.

Kyle watches him, and touches him. Drags his hands down Stan’s thighs, and steadies himself by that touch while he plants wet kisses along his cock. Stan’s hips jerk just perfectly at the sensation, and he fucks back onto his fingers more thoroughly. Kyle gives him more of that, pulling his tongue wet and loose over the tip of Stan’s cock, bumping his nose in the dark hair above - until Stan is moving like he’s clearly ready.

“Now?” Kyle asks, hopping up to his face height, getting a kiss or two in below on his chest.

Stan pulls them into a lying position and Kyle arranges himself between his legs. It’s slow at first, like it always is.

But Stan’s right. Something is different, more _raw_. Like, literally raw, but - _more_ \- something else, something deep in his stomach that crawls up and catches him in his throat, and it might not even be a physical sensation, though he can’t really tell with the way his head is clouding, all heat and pressure and Stan. Like they’re fusing together, and in no universe could he even imagine Stan, or anyone ( _Stan_ ) wanting this from him. They could be as close as this forever. Maybe they always were, and this is the confirmation.

Stan has a hand cupped roughly against his face. He says, “Kyle,” but Kyle, his eyes down, knows he’s not supposed to reply that.

He puts his face close in Stan’s neck, eyes closed, because that might be the only way he survives this. He feels a kiss on his ear followed by a rough whisper of curses, like Stan is trying hard to get words out over the intensity of it. Kyle’s familiar with the feeling, spurred by the visceral knowledge of feeling Stan inside _him_ , what feels like moments ago. A perfect loop of closeness.

“So? What’s the verdict?” Stan mumbles. 

Kyle breathes a quiet “fuck” into his neck in reply, lets his hips and the moans he’s never been able to hold do the talking. He says, “You?”

Stan’s eyes are closed, brow nuzzling against Kyle’s temple, his hands closed around Kyle’s hips. He breathes all in a rush, “I love you so fucking much, you know,” and Kyle really should have predicted it but it makes his heart jump into his throat still. Stan half-laughs then - in exhilaration or embarrassment, Kyle definitely doesn’t know. He mumbles into Kyle’s neck again, “I need you.”

Kyle curls his free hand in Stan’s hair automatically, and even the hand that he’s holding himself up with falters a little at those words. He’s kissing Stan fervently before he knows it, and then he doesn’t know how long they’ve been doing that, and Stan is pulling Kyle into him, rocking back and tangling their legs together more and more.

Stan suddenly takes his face in both hands. What is it with him today? He’s definitely… _tender_ about it, always if he’s the one fucking Kyle, so maybe the fact that they just did that has put him in such a mood.

Kyle is immediately, unavoidably forced to look exactly where he would really rather not. Stan’s eyes are dark with lust, his expression something so quietly vulgar that it sends Kyle’s blood rushing. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries in vain to run a well-used stock of images through his brain - his grandma’s funeral, Cartman scoffing down fries - but it’s _really_ not enough right now so he’s glad when Stan kind of motions to push him off. He extracts himself carefully and gives Stan the space to move, cursing under his breath for the sudden loss of heat.

Stan looks up at him, “I’m gonna lie on my front, okay.”

Kyle raises his eyebrow, now that he feels like he can get his body to do what he wants. That was an alarmingly close call.

“ _What?_ ” Stan says. His tone is almost daring, but the blood is rising fast in his face, and so is a devilish smirk.

“Nothing,” Kyle says innocently, but he can already feel the familiar fire in his veins, a dizzying kind of heat. Can’t do anything to stop the darkening of his thoughts.

It's not _nothing_ , because whenever Stan wants to get fucked like that - from behind as opposed to face to face, or something else - Kyle’s picked up there’s a very specific mood he’s after.

Stan arranges himself, arms braced on the pillow. Kyle follows his spine all the way down to the rise of his ass. Looks at the hitch in the line of his shoulders as he leans on to his forearms. His head is tipped forward, framing that lovely expanse, and Kyle draws his eyes up to the back of his neck, just shy of his ears. That's where Kyle wants to kiss him. Bite him.

That's where Kyle has always wanted to kiss him, and this is how Kyle has always wanted to fuck him. His head feels light. He looks at the way Stan’s knees are pressed up against the mattress, digging, betraying just the slightest impatience. Kyle distantly thinks of Stan with his back to him, in the gym showers after school. Smells the steam and sweat in the air. Stan sitting in front of his seat in class, absently fingering the space below his hairline in boredom while he’s watching the clock tick. Those massages he occasionally wanted after a particularly intense practice session - Stan’s shoulder blades under his hands, his almost-moan each time Kyle would dig hard enough. And - well, Kyle sitting carefully to hide his boner like his life depended on it.

The most _fuckable_ version of his best friend, the star of Kyle’s most ill-advised, furious and, at the time, shameful fantasies.

Kyle gets a good grip of his hips, relishing the way Stan backs into him with a sigh.

It's slow at first while Stan adjusts again, but soon they have a pretty good rhythm, and Stan, true to form, arches for harder thrusts - reaches back to where Kyle’s hands are on him and squeezes an insistent grip around his wrist. Kyle pulls his hips back, again and again, and he’s just _taking_ the pleasure from Stan’s body, and it thrills him every time how he doesn’t feel bad about it at all; a hand holding hard at the back of Stan’s neck, gripping tight in his hair and almost making to pin him down. Because Stan is moaning; roughly, softly, everything in between, taking it, giving it back. Enjoying it and nothing less.

“Wait,” Stan says feverishly after a few minutes. Kyle slows, rides out the current wave of pleasure. “Like this,” Stan continues, and he pushes his knees apart and down until he’s lying totally flat on the bed, arms crossed on the pillow. Kyle follows, no pretense of holding his weight above Stan. His lips find the crease of his neck, and he shoves his face into the perfect sweaty scent.

It's completely different. More skin, more sweat and so _deep_. And God, he can just pull Stan's hips into him with barely any effort, push his legs apart flat against the bed and just _rut_. It's strangely static for how intense it feels, his movement restricted by the sheer want to be pressed thoroughly against Stan’s back, sweat mingling between them. It's like a fucking hug more than anything else, and the bizarre thought only makes him press himself against Stan even more.

Stan is moaning-sighing-breathing continuously under him, eyes closed.

There’s only an inch of space between where Stan’s face is pressed sideways and Kyle's hand lays flat against the bed for leverage. Stan presses his nose against it, plants a careful kiss on the side of his thumb. “Fuck me harder,” he mumbles into it, and it’s almost hotter for how matter-of-fact it is. His hands come round to pull roughly at Kyle’s ass even as he litters that hand with more kisses, and Kyle wonders how the fuck he can do that - his brain can't compute something so gentle, and so filthy, all in one moment, and - how does Stan have the fucking _power_ to mess with his senses like that?

He grunts and his hand finds Stan’s face, his fingers pressed against waiting lips. He waits for the sweet, fumbling kisses before pushing two fingers into his mouth. Stan moans around them immediately and arches. Kyle rests his other hand along the side of Stan's head again, wiping the sweaty hair from his eyes and kissing his ear, his jaw intermittently. It’s deep and fast now, and Kyle drinks in the way Stan’s eyes screw shut here, or the change in the wet muffled moans against his fingers as Stan rocks into him, shudders under him, squeezes around him.

He goes again for the back of Stan’s head, tugging his hair hard, though he’s plastered against Stan’s back so there’s no room to move to pin him down. He’s fucking hard, jerky thrusts into Stan’s body, hips driving through though they never break contact. He totally fucking gets why Stan loves this position. It’s overwhelming, his own body, automatic, relentless, pushing the most perfect noises out of Stan under him. His lips find the shell of an ear, breathing and biting. Stan grunts a helpless sound. He grinds into the mattress below.

“I’m gonna come,” Kyle warns roughly, and in a moment of panic, “Where should I - ?”

The only response is Stan nodding hard into the pillow, bucking back against his hips and holding him firmly inside by his ass.

“Stay right there.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Want you to come inside me. Please.”

Those words, and that needy hitch in his voice. It’s more than Kyle needs.

Stan is grinding into the mattress with him when he comes. He's right there with Kyle, or maybe a moment later - he doesn’t know, but that’s beside the point because he can feel it so perfectly, not just on his cock but in the whole trembling body that’s mapped under every inch of his own. And God, it sounds dumb, but for a perfect second or two, they’re just _in_ _sync_. There's no part of Kyle that's going to make sense again without Stan. He holds on. His heart is going haywire pressed over Stan’s sweaty skin.

When he feels like he's recovered, Kyle slowly untangles his limbs, not wanting to startle Stan. He slides over on to his back instantly, grateful for the cool air on his chest. Stan turns on his side and just rests, wipes his forehead against the pillow.

Kyle leaves his knuckles tracing weakly on Stan's back.  
  
It feels like a good while later when Stan speaks, half into the pillow, “That’s good. Amazing.” His voice is sleepy in a way that makes Kyle's chest flutter with some kind of pride.

“Mmm.” Is all Kyle can say. He doesn't open his eyes. “Shower?” he asks. It was kind of inevitable.

“I’m full of you,” Stan says softly, not answering his question in the slightest. Jesus.

Kyle feels hot again for no reason. “Kinda gross.”

“But perfect, right?”

Kyle looks at Stan's lazy smile and he has to concede.

“Ugh. Yeah, let’s go,” Stan says, presumably back on the shower topic, but he’s making no move to get up yet.

They're watching each other. Kyle makes to say something, but decides against it. Stan reads the question off his face, and presses a quick kiss in Kyle’s sweaty brow. “It’s different, like - I can feel you more.” He doesn’t clarify what he means by _more_. Kyle looks at him questioningly.

“Like....” he shifts his weight on the bed, brings his lips close to Kyle’s ear, “I can feel it when you come.” Fuck. “But that’s not even what I mean… it's like - nevermind. I don’t think I’m in the right state of mind to explain anything right now.” He laughs sheepishly. “Try it yourself.”

Kyle bites down a smirk at the notion. He thinks he already knows what Stan means, though. He smiles. “I'll go run the water.”

 


End file.
